Page 74 of All That Glitters

She gives me a look but concedes. We walk to our first class hand in hand, talking about writing and books. It feels like something out of a dream I’ve had. I have to keep reminding myself this is real. Goldie is mine and I’m hers. And nothing is going to change that.

Chapter thirty-five

Easy to Love

Marigold Belmore

Going to Jameson’s parents’ house shouldn’t be stressful. I’ve spent more time there than my own house over the years. I know they love me and I love them. But everything feels different now.

I run my finger nervously over the tiny hole in my black tights. I should have bought a new pair. What if it rips further? Jameson’s hand reaches over the console and grabs mine, halting my fidgeting.

“Breathe, Goldie,” he soothes. “They didn’t turn into complete strangers the moment you and I kissed. They’re going to be over the moon.”

“What if they aren’t?” I voice my fears. “What if they only liked me because I was just your friend? Or pretended to like me—”

He shoots me a look that has me cutting off mid-sentence.

“Quit saying ridiculous things.”

My mouth pops open with indignation.

“I’m worried—”

“For no reason.”

I huff and pinch his dumb big hand.

“Well, you could be a little nicer when telling me so.”

He laughs, unaffected by my attack.

“I’ve tried nice. You don’t respond to that.”

I pinch him again, this time on his forearm.

“Maybe you weren’t nice enough—did you ever think about that?” I counter.

“No.”

I pinch him again, and this time he jerks his arm away, laughing more.

“Would you quit that?”

“No.” I echo his earlier answer with a grin.

His eyes shift from the road to me, and back again. We’re almost to his family’s home. My anxiety ticks higher.

“If you leave a bruise I can no longer promise my mom’s unconditional love,” he teases.

Naturally, I reach across and smack his shoulder.

“Your mom would take my side anyway because she knows you’re a pest.”

“You’re probably right.” He gives me a meaningful look. “Which is why you should breathe. I’m pretty sure between us, you’re the favorite.”

I bite my lip. His parents have always treated me as a part of the family. They’ve taken my side during silly arguments and even teamed up with me against Jameson during game nights. But since I grew up in a house where I felt more resentment than love, it’s hard to accept that anyone would see me as the favorite. I think for a long time I felt like Jameson’s parents brought me in because they felt bad for me or only tolerated me because Jameson and I were inseparable. But his words are challenging that belief.

We pull onto his parents’ street. They live in an idyllic suburban neighborhood. It’s so perfect sometimes it makes me rethink my plan to live in a cabin in the woods where no one can interrupt my writing time. A family going on a walk and bike ride together waves as we pass. Jameson lifts his hand in a wave back.